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THE RIDE TO THE LADY 



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auD (Bti\tv poem0 



HELEN GRAY CONE 




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BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



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Copyright, 1891, 
By HELEN GRAY CONE. 

All rights reserved. 



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The Riverside Press, Cambridge, 3fass., U. S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Ride to the Lady 5 

The First Guest 9 

Silence . 12 

Arraignment 14 

The Going Out of the Tide 16 

King Raedwald 19 

Ivo of Chartres 23 

Madonna Pia 26 

Two Moods of Failure 31 

The Story of the " Orient " 27 

A Resurrection 42 

The Glorious Company 44 

The Trumpeter 46 

Comrades 48 

The House of Hate . 50 

The Arrowmaker 53 

A Nest in a Lyre 56 

Thisbe 57 

The Spring Beauties "... 58 

Kinship . , . , 60 

Compensation 62 

When Willows Green 63 

At the Parting of the Ways 64 



iv Contents 

The Fair Gray Lady 67 

The Encounter 68 

Summer Hours 72 

Love Unsung 73 

The Wish for a Chaplet 74 

Sonnets : 

The Torch Race 77 

To Sleep 78 

Sister Snow 79 

Retrospect 80 

The Contrast 81 

A Mystery 82 

Triumph 84 

In Winter, with the Book we read in Spring ... 85 

Sere Wisdom S7 

Isolation 89 

The Lost Dryad . „ 90 

A Memory 91 

The Gifts of the Oak 92 

The Strayed Singer 94 

The Immortal Word 95 



THE RIDE TO THE LADY 

" Now since mine even is come at last, — 
For I have been the sport of steel, 
And hot life ebbeth from me fast, 
And I in saddle roll and reel, — 
Come bind me, bind me on my steed ! 
Of fingering leech I have no need ! " 
The chaplain clasped his mailed knee. 
" Nor need I more thy whine and thee ! 
No time is left my sins to tell ; 
But look ye bind me, bind me well ! " 
They bound him strong with leathern thong, 
For the ride to the lady should be long. 

Day was dying ; the poplars fled. 
Thin as ghosts, on a sky blood-red ; 
Out of the sky the fierce hue fell, 
And made the streams as the streams of hell. 
All his thoughts as a river flowed, 
Flowed aflame as fleet he rode, 
5 



6 The Ride to the Lady 

Onward flowed to her abode, 
Ceased at her feet, mirrored her face. 
(Viewless Death apace, apace, 
Rode behind him in that race.) 

" Face, mine own, mine alone, 
Trembling lips my lips have known. 
Birdlike stir of the dove-soft eyne 
Under the kisses that make them mine ! 
Only of thee, of thee, my need ! 
Only to thee, to thee, I speed ! " 
The Cross flashed by at the highway's turn ; 
In a beam of the moon the Face shone stern. 

Far behind had the fight's din died ; 
The shuddering stars in the welkin wide 
Crowded, crowded, to see him ride. 
The beating hearts of the stars aloof 
Kept time to the beat of the horse's hoof. 
" What is the throb that thrills so sweet 1 
Heart of my lady, I feel it beat ! " 
But his own strong pulse the fainter fell, 
Like the failing tongue of a hushing bell. 
The flank of the great-limbed steed was wet 
Not alone with the started sweat. 



Tlje Ride to the Lady 7 

Fast, and fast, and the thick black wood 
Arched its cowl like a black friar's hood ; 
Fast, and fast, and they plunged therein, — 
But the viewless rider rode to win. 

Out of the wood to the highway's light . 
Galloped the great-limbed steed in fright ; 
The mail clashed cold, and the sad owl cried, 
And the weight of the dead oppressed his side. 

Fast, and fast, by the road he knew ; 
And slow, and slow, the stars withdrew ; 
And the waiting heaven turned weirdly blue, 
As a garment worn of a wizard grim. 
He neighed at the gate in the morning dim. 

She heard no sound before her gate, 
Though very quiet was her bower. 
All was as her hand had left it late : 
The needle slept on the broidered vine. 
Where the hammer and spikes of the passion- 
flower 
Her fashioning did wait. 
On the couch lay something fair, 
With steadfast lips and veiled eyne ; 



8 The Ride to the Lady 

But the lady was not there. 

On the wings of shrift and prayer, 

Pure as winds that winnow snow, 

Her soul had risen twelve hours ago. 

The burdened steed at the barred gate stood, 

No whit the nearer to his goal. 

Now God's great grace assoil the soul 

That went out in the wood ! 



THE FIRST GUEST 

When the house is finished, Death enters. 

Eastern Proverb, 

Life's House being ready all, 
Each chamber fair and dumb, 
Ere Life, the Lord, is come 
With pomp into his hall, — 
Ere Toil has trod the floors. 
Ere Love has lit the fires, 
Or young great-eyed Desires 
Have, timid, tried the doors ; 
Or from east-window leaned 
One Hope, to greet the sun, 
Or one gray Sorrow screened 
Her sight against the west, — 
Then enters the first guest. 
The House of Life being done. 

He waits there in the shade. 
I deem he is Life's twin, 
For whom the House was made. 
9 



10 The First Guest 

Whatever his true name, 

Be sure, to enter in 

He has both key and claim. 

The daybeams, free of fear, 
Creep drowsy toward his feet ; 
His heart were heard to beat. 
Were any there to hear ; 
Ah, not for ends malign, 
Like wild thing crouched in lair, 
Or watcher of a snare, 
But with a friend's design 
He lurks in shadow there ! 

He goes not to the gates 

To welcome any other. 

Nay, not Lord Life, his brother ; 

But still his hour awaits 

Each several guest to find 

Alone, yea, quite alone ; 

Pacing with pensive mind 

The cloister's echoing stone, 

Or singing, unaware, 

At the turning of the stair. 

'T is truth, though we forget. 



77?^ First Guest ii 

In Life's House enters none 

Who shall that seeker shun, 

Who shall not so be met. 
" Is this mine hour ? " each saith. 
" So be it, gentle Death ! " 

Each has his way to end, 

Encountering this friend. 

Griefs die to memories mild ; 

Hope turns a weaned child ; 

Love shines a spirit white. 

With eyes of deepened light. 

When many a guest has passed, 

Some day 't is Life's at last 

To front the face of Death. 

Then, casements closed, men say : 
*' Lord Life is gone away ; 

He went, we trust and pray, 
^ To God, who gave him breath." 

Beginning, End, He is : 

Are not these sons both His ? 

Lo, these with Him are one ! 

To phrase it so were best : 

God's self is that first Guest, 

The House of Life being done ! 



SILENCE 

Why should I sing of earth or heaven ? not 

rather rest, 
Powerless to speak of that which hath my soul 

possessed, — 
For full possession dumb ? Yea, Silence, 

that were best. 

And though for what it failed to sound I brake 
the string, 

And dashed the sweet lute down, a too-much- 
fingered thing. 

And found a wild new voice, — oh, still, why 
should I sing ? 

An earth-song could I make, strange as the 

breath of earth. 
Filled with the great calm joy of life and death 

and birth ? 
Yet, were it less than this, the song were little 
worth. 



\ 



Silence /^ 

For this the fields express ; brown clods tell 
each to each ; 

Sad-colored leaves have sense whereto I can- 
not reach ; 

Spiced everlasting-flowers outstrip my range of 
speech. 

A heaven-song could I make, all fire that yet 
was peace, 

And tenderness not lost, though glory did in- 
crease ? 

But were it less than this, 'twere well the song 
should cease. 

For this the still west saith, with plumy flames 

bestrewn j 
Heaven's body sapphire-clear, at stirless height 

of noon ; 
The cloud where lightnings pulse, beside the 

untroubled moon. 

I will not sing of earth or heaven, but rather rest, 
Rapt by the face of heaven, and held on earth's 

warm breast. 
Hushed lips, a healing heart, yea, Silence, that 

were best. 



ARRAIGNMENT 

" Not ye who have stoned, not ye who have 

smitten us," cry 
The sad, great souls, as they go out hence 

into dark, 
*' Not ye we accuse, though for you was our 

passion borne ; 
And ye we reproach not, who silently passed 

us by. 
We forgive blind eyes and the ears that 

would not hark. 
The careless and causeless hate and the 

shallow scorn. 

" But ye, who have seemed to know us, have 
seen and heard ; 
Who have set us at feasts and have crowned 

with the costly rose ; 
Who have spread us the purple of praises 
beneath our feet ; 
14 



Arraignment 75 

Yet guessed not the word that we spake was a 
living word, 
Applauding the sound, — we account you as 

worse than foes ! 
We sobbed you our message ; ye said, ' It is 
song, and sweet ! ' " 



THE GOING OUT OF THE TIDE 

The eastern heaven was all faint amethyst, 
Whereon the moon hung dreaming in the mist ; 
To north yet drifted one long delicate plume 
Of roseate cloud ; like snow the ocean-spume. 

Now when the first foreboding swiftly ran 
Through the loud-glorying sea that it began 
To lose its late-gained lordship of the land, 
Uprose the billow like an angered man, 
And flung its prone strength far along the sand ; 
Almost, almost to the old bound, the dark 
And taunting triumph-mark. 

But no, no, no ! and slow, and slow, and slow, 
Like a heart losing hold, this wave must go, — 
Must go, must go, — dragged heavily back, 

back, 
Beneath the next wave plunging on its track, 
Charging, with thunderous and defiant shout. 
To fore-determined rout. 
i6 



The Going Out of the Tide ly 

Again, again the unexhausted main 
Renews fierce effort, drawing force unguessed 
From awful deeps of its mysterious breast : 
Like arms of passionate protest, tossed in vain, 
The spray upflings above the billow's crest. 
Again the appulse, again the backward 

strain — 
Till ocean must have rest. 

With one abandoned movement, swift and 

wild, — 
As though bowed head and outstretched arms 

it laid 
On the earth's lap, soft-sobbing, — hushed and 

stayed. 
The great sea quiets, like a soothbd child. 
Ha ! what sharp memory clove the calm, and 

drave 
This last fleet furious wave ? 

On, on, endures the struggle into night, 
Ancient as Time, yet fresh as the fresh hour ; 
As oft repeated since the birth of light 
As the strong agony and mortal fight 
Of human souls, blind-reaching, with the 
Power 



i8 The Going Out of the Tide 

Aloof, unmoved, impossible to cross, 
Whose law is seeming loss. 

Low-sunken from the longed-for triumph-mark, 
The spent sea sighs as one that grieves in sleep. 
The unveiled moon along the rippling plain 
Casts many a keen, cold, shifting silvery spark, 
Wild as the pulses of strange joy, that leap 
Even in the quick of pain. 

And she compelling, she that stands for law, — 
As law for Will eternal, — perfect, clear, 
And uncompassionate shines : to her appear 
Vast sequences close-linked without a flaw. 
All past despairs of ocean unforgot, 
All raptures past, serene her light she gives. 
The moon too high for pity, since she lives 
Aware that loss is not. 



KING RAEDWALD 

Will you hear now the speech of King Raed- 

wald, — heathen Raedwald, the simple 

yet wise ? 
He, the ruler of North-folk and South-folk, a 

man open-browed as the skies. 
Held the eyes of the eager Italians with his 

blue, bold. Englishman's eyes. 

In his hall, on his throne, so he sat, with the 

light of the fire on him full : 
Colored bright as the ring of red gold on his 

hand, fit to buffet a bull, 
Was the mane that grew down on his neck, was 

the beard he would pondering pull. 

To the priests, to the eager Italians, thus fear- 
less he poured his free speech : 

" O my honey-tongued fathers, I turn not away 
from the faith that ye teach ! 
19 



20 King Raedwald 

Not the less hath a man many moods, and 
may ask a reUgion for each. 

" Grant that all things are well with the realm 
on a delicate day of the spring, 

Easter month, time of hopes and of swallows ! 
The praises, the psalms that ye sing, 

As in pleasant accord they float heavenward, 
are good in the ears of the king. 

" Then the heart bubbles forth with clear wa- 
ters, to the tune of this wonder-word 
Peace, 

From the chanting and preaching whereof ye 
who serve the white Christ never cease ; 

And your curly, soft incense ascending enwraps 
my content like a fleece. 

" But a churl comes adrip from the rivers, 
pants me out, fallen spent on the floor, 

' O King Raedwald, Northumberland marches, 
and to-morrow knocks hard at thy door. 

Hot for melting thy crown on the hearth ! ' 

Then commend me to Woden and Thor ! 



King Raedwald 21 

" Could I sit then and listen to preachments 
on turning the cheek to the blow, 

And saying a prayer for the smiter, and holding 
my seen treasure low 

For the sake of a treasure unseen ? By the 
sledge of the Thunderer, no ! 

" For my thought flashes out as a sword, cleav- 
ing counsel as clottage of cream ; 

And your incense and chanting are but as the 
smoke of burnt towns and the scream ; 

And I quaff me the thick mead of triumph 
from enemies' skulls in my dream ! 

" And 't is therefore this day I resolve me, — 

for King Raedwald will cringe not, nor 

lie! — 
I will bring back the altar of Woden ; in the 

temple will have it, hard by 
The new altar of this your white Christ. As 

my mood may decide, worship I ! " 

So he spake in his large self-reliance, — he, a 
man open-browed as the skies ; 

Would not measure his soul by a standard that 
was womanish-weak to his eyes, 



22 King Raedwald 

Smite his breast and go on with his sinning, 
— savage Raedwald, the simple yet 
wise! 

And the centuries bloom o'er his barrow. But 
for us, — have we mastered it quite. 

The old riddle, that sweet is strong's outcome, 
the old marvel, that meekness is might. 

That the child is the leader of lions, that for- 
giveness is force at its height ? 

When we summon the shade of rude Raedwald, 
in his candor how king-like he towers ! 

Have the centuries, over his slumber, only- 
borne sterile falsehoods for flowers ? 

Pray you, what if Christ found him the nobler, 
having weighed his frank manhood with 
ours? 



IVO OF CHARTRES 

Now may it please my lord, Louis the king, 

Lily of Christ and France ! riding his quest, 
I, Bishop Ivo, saw a wondrous thing. 

There was no light of sun left in the west, 
And slowly did the moon's new light increase. 

Heaven, without cloud, above the near hill's 
crest. 
Lay passion-purple in a breathless peace. 

Stars started like still tears, in rapture shed, 
Which without consciousness the lids release. 

All steadily, one little sparkle red, 
Afar, drew close. A woman's form grew up 

Out of the dimness, tall, with queen-like head. 
And in one hand was fire ; in one, a cup. 

Of aspect grave she was, with eyes upraised, 
As one whose thoughts perpetually did sup 

At the Lord's table. 

23 



24 I've of Chartres 

While the cresset blazed, 
Her I regarded. " Daughter, whither bent, 
And wherefore ? " As by speech of man 
amazed, 
One moment her deep look to me she lent ; 
Then, in a voice of hymn-like, solemn fall, 
Calm, as by rote, she spake out her intent : 

" I in my cruse bear water, wherewithal 
To quench the flames of Hell ; and with my 
fire 
I Paradise would burn : that hence no small 
Fear shall impel, and no mean hope shall hire. 
Men to serve God as they have served of 
yore; 
But to his will shall set their whole desire, 
For love, love, love alone, forevermore ! " 

And " love, love, love," rang round her as she 
passed 
From sight, with mystic murmurs o'er and 
o'er 
Reverbed from hollow heaven, as from some 
vast. 
Deep-colored, vaulted, ocean-answering shell. 



Ivo of Chartres 2^ 

I, Ivo, had no power to ban or bless, 

But was as one withholden by a spell. 
Forward she fared in lofty loneliness. 
Urged on by an imperious inward stress, 
To waste fair Eden, and to drown fierce Hell. 



MADONNA PIA 

Ricordati di me, che son la Pia. 
Siena mi fe ; disfecemi Maremma : 
Salsi colui, che, inanellata pria, 
Disposato m' avea coUa sua gemma. 

Purgatorio, Canto V. 

To westward lies the unseen sea, 

Blue sea the live winds wander o'er. 
The many-colored sails can flee, 

And leave the dead, low-lying shore. 
Her longing does not seek the main, 

Her face turns northward first at morn ; 
There, crowning all the wide champaign, 

Siena stood, where she was born. 

Siena stands, and still shall stand ; 

She ne'er shall see or town or tower. 
Warm life and beauty, hand in hand, 

Steal farther from her hour by hour. 
Yet forth she leans, with trembling knees, 

And northward will she stare and stare 
26 



Madonna Pia 2y 

Through that thick wall of cypress-trees, 
And sigh adown the stirless air : 

" Shall no remembrance in Siena linger 

Of me, once fair, whom slow Maremma 
slays ? 
As well he knows, whose ring upon my finger 
Hath sealed for his alone mine earthly 
days ! " 

From wilds where shudders through the weeds 

The dull, mean-headed, silent snake, 
Like voiceless doubt that creeps and breeds ; 

From swamps where sluggish waters take. 
As lives unblest a passing love, 

The flag-flower's image in the spring, 
Or seem, when flits the bird above, 

To stir within with shadowed wing, 

A Presence mounts in pallid mist 

To fold her close : she breathes its breath 3 
She waxes wan, by Fever kissed. 

Who weds her for his master, Death. 
Aside are set her dimmed hopes all. 

She counts no more the uncurrent hoard ; 



28 Madonna Pia 

On gray Death's neck she fain would fall, 
To own him for her proper lord. 

She minds the journey here by night : 

When some red sudden torch would blaze, 
She saw by fits, with childish fright, 

The cork-trees twist beside the ways. 
Like dancing demon shapes they showed, 

With malice drunk ; the bat beat by, 
The owlet sobbed ; on, on they rode, 

She knew not where, she knows not why. 

For Nello, — when in piteous wise 

She lifted up her look to ask, 
Except the ever-burning eyes 

His face was like a marble mask. 
And so it always meets her now ; 

The tomb wherein at last he lies 
Shall bear such carven lips and brow. 

All save the ever-burning eyes. 

Perchance it is his form alone 

Doth stroke his hound, at meat doth sit, 
And, for the soul that was his own, 

A fiend awhile inhabits it ; 



Madonna Pia 29 

While he sinks through the fiery throng, 
Down, down, to fill an evil bond. 

Since false conceit of others' wrong 
Hath wrought him to a sin beyond. 

But she, — if when her years were glad 

Vain fluttering thoughts were hers, that hid 
Behind that gracious fame she had ; 

If e'er observance hard she did 
That sinful men might call her saint, — 

White-handed Pia, dovelike-eyed, — 
The sick blank hours shall yet acquaint 

Her heart with all her blameful pride. 

And Death shall find her kneeling low. 

And lift her to the porphyry stair, 
And she from ledge to ledge shall go, 

Stayed by the staff of that last prayer. 
Until the high, sweet-singing wood 

Whence folk are rapt to heaven, she win; 
Therein the unpardoned never stood, 

Nor may one Sorrow nest therein. 

But through the Tuscan land shall beat 
Her Sorrow, like a wounded bird ; 



^o Madonna Pia 

And if her suit at Mary's feet 

Avail, its moan shall yet be heard 

By some just poet, who shall shed, 

Whate'er the theme that leads his rhyme, 

Bright words like tears above her, dead, 
Entreating of the after-time : 

" Among you let her mournful memory linger ! 

Siena bare her, whom Maremma slew ; 
And that dark lord, who gave her maiden 
finger 

His ancient gem, the secret only knew." 



TWO MOODS OF FAILURE 

I 

THE LAST CUP OF CANARY 
Sir Harry Lovelock, 1645 

So, the powder 's low, and the larder 's clean, 
And surrender drapes, with its blacks im- 
pending, 
All the stage for a sorry and sullen scene : 
Yet indulge me my whim of a madcap end- 
ing ! 

Let us once more fill, ere the final chill. 

Every vein with the glow of the rich canary ! 

Since the sweet hot liquor of life's to spill. 
Of the last of the cellar what boots be chary ? 

Then hear the conclusion : I '11 yield my breath, 
But my leal old house and my good blade 
never ! 

31 



^2 Two Moods of Failure 

Better one bitter kiss on the lips of Death 
Than despoiled Defeat as a wife forever ! 

Let the faithful fire hold the walls in ward 
Till the roof-tree crash ! Be the smoke once 
riven 
While we flash from the gate like a single 
sword, 
True steel to the hilt, though in dull earth 
driven ! 

Do you frown, Sir Richard, above your ruff, 
In the Holbein yonder ? My deed ensures 
you ! 
For the flame like a fencer shall give rebuff 
To your blades that blunder, you Round- 
head boors, you ! 

And my ladies, a-row on the gallery wall, 
Not a sing-song sergeant or corporal sainted 

Shall pierce their breasts with his Puritan ball, 
To annul the charms of the flesh, though 
painted ! 

I have worn like a jewel the life they gave ; 
As the ring in mine ear I can lightly lose it. 



Two Moods of Failure ^j 

If my days be done, why, my days were 
brave ! 
If the end arrive, I as master choose it ! 

Then fill to the brim, and a health, I say, 
To our liege King Charles, and I pray God 
bless him ! 
'T would amend worse vintage to drink dismay 
To the clamorous mongrel pack that press 
him ! 

And a health to the fair women, past recall. 
That like birds astray through the heart's 
hall flitted ; 
To the lean devil Failure last of all. 

And the lees in his beard for a fiend out- 
witted 1 



II 



THE YOUNG MAN CHARLES STUART REVIEW- 
ETH THE TROOPS ON BLACKHEATH 

(Private Constant-in-Tribulation Joyce, May, 1660) 

We were still as a wood without wind ; as 
't were set by a spell 



^4 Tzvo Moods of Failure 

Stayed the gleam on the steel-cap, the glint on 

the slant petronel. 
He to left of me drew down his grim grizzled 

lip with his teeth, — 
I remember his look ; so we grew like dumb 

trees on the heath. 

But the people, — the people were mad as 

with store of new wine ; 
Oh, they cheered him, they capped him, they 

roared as he rode down the line : 
He that fled us at Worcester, the boy, the green 

brier-shoot, the son 
Of the Stuart on whom for his sin the great 

judgment was done ! 

Swam before us the field of our shame, and 

our souls walked afar ; 
Saw the glory, the blaze of the sun bursting 

over Dunbar ; 
Saw the faces of friends, in the morn riding 

jocund to fight ; 
Saw the stern pallid faces again, as we saw 

them at night ! 



Two Moods of Failure 35 

" O ye blessed, who died in the Lord ! would 

to God that we too 
Had so passed, only sad that we ceased his 

high justice to do, 
With the words of the psalm on our lips that 

from Israel's once came. 
How the Lord is a strong man of war j yea, 

the Lord is his name ! 

" Not for us, not for us ! who have served for 

his kingdom seven years. 
Yea, and yet other seven have we served, 

sweating blood, bleeding tears, 
For the kingdom of God and the saints! 

Rachel's beauty made bold. 
Yet we bear but a Leah at last to a hearth 

that is cold 1 " 

Burned the fire while I mused, while I gloomed ; 

in the end came a call ; 
Settled o'er me a calm like a cloud, spake a 

voice still and small : 
" Take thou Leah to bride, take thou Failure 

to bed and to board ! 
Thou shalt rear up new strengths at her knees ; 

she is given of the Lord ! 



^6 Two Moods of Failure 

*' If with weight of his right hand, with power, 

he denieth to deal, 
And the smoke-clouds, and thunders of guns, 

and the lightnings of steel, 
Shall the cool silent dews of his grace, in a 

season of peace, 
Not descend on the land, as of old, for a sign, 

on the fleece ? 

" Hath he cleft not the rock, to the yield of a 

stream that is sweet ? 
Hath he set in the ribs of the lion no honey for 

meat ? 
Can he bring not delight to the desert, and 

buds to the rod ? 
He will shine, he will visit his vine ; he hath 

sworn, he is God ! " 

Then I thought of the gate I rode through on 

the roan that 's long dead, — 
I remember the dawn was but pale, and the 

stars overhead ; 
Of the babe that is grown to a maid, and of 

Martha, my wife, 
And the spring on the wolds far away, and 

gave thanks for my life ! 



THE STORY OF THE "ORIENT" 

'TwAS a pleasant Sunday morning while the 

spring was in its glory, 
English spring of gentle glory ; smoking by his 

cottage door, 
Florid-faced, the man-o'-war's-man told his 

white-head boy the story, 
Noble story of Aboukir, told a hundred times 

before. 

" Here, the Theseus — here, the Vajigtiard ; " as 
he spoke each name sonorous, — 

Minotaur^ Defeiice, Majestic^ stanch old com- 
rades of the brine, 

That against the ships of Brueys made their 
broadsides roar in chorus, — 

Ranging daisies on his doorstone, deft he 
mapped the battle^ine. 

Mapped the curve of tall three-deckers, deft as 
might a man left-handed, 
37 



38 The Story of the " Orient " 

Who had given an arm to England later on at 

Trafalgar. 
While he poured the praise of Nelson to the 

child with eyes expanded, 
Bright athwart his honest forehead blushed the 

scarlet cutlass-scar. 

For he served aboard the Vanguard, saw the 

Admiral blind and bleeding 
Borne below by silent sailors, borne to die as 

then they deemed. 
Every stout heart sick but stubborn, fought the 

sea-dogs on unheeding, 
Guns were cleared and manned and cleared, 

the battle thundered, flashed, and 

screamed. 

Till a cry swelled loud and louder, — towered 
on fire the Orient stately, 

Brueys' flag-ship, she that carried guns a hun- 
dred and a score ; 

Then came groping up the hatchway he they 
counted dead but lately, 

Came the little one-armed Admiral to guide the 
fight once more. 



The Story of the ''Orient'' 39 

" ' Lower the boats ! ' was Nelson's order." — 

But the listening boy beside him, 
Who had followed all his motions with an 

eager wide blue eye, 
Nursed upon the name of Nelson till he half 

had deified him, 
Here, with childhood's crude consistence, broke 

the tale to question "Why?" 

For by children facts go streaming in a throng 
that never pauses, 

Noted not, till, of a sudden, thought, a sun- 
beam, gilds the motes. 

All at once the known words quicken, and the 
child would deal with causes. 

Since to kill the French was righteous, why 
bade Nelson lower the boats ? 

Quick the man put by the question. " But the 

Orient, none could save her ; 
We could see the ships, the ensigns, clear as 

daylight by the flare ; 
And a many leaped and left her ; but, God 

rest 'em ! some were braver ; 
Some held by her, firing steady till she blew to 

God knows where." 



40 The Story of the "Orient" 

At the shock, he said, the Vanguard shook 

through all her timbers oaken ; 
It was like the shock of Doomsday, — not a 

tar but shuddered hard. 
All was hushed for one strange moment ; then 

that awful calm was broken 
By the heavy plash that answered the descent 

of mast and yard. 

So, her cannon still defying, and her colors 

flaming, flying. 
In her pit her wounded helpless, on her deck 

her Admiral dead, 
Soared the Orieiit into darkness with her living 

and her dying : 
" Yet our lads made shift to rescue three-score 

souls," the seaman said. 

Long the boy with knit brows wondered o'er 
that friending of the foeman ; 

Long the man with shut lips pondered ; power- 
less he to tell the cause 

Why the brother in his bosom that desired the 
death of no man, 

In the crash of battle wakened, snapped the 
bonds of hate like straws. 



The Story of the " Orient" 41 

While he mused, his toddling maiden drew the 

daisies to a posy ; 
Mild the bells of Sunday morning rang across 

the church-yard sod \ 
And, helped on by tender hands, with sturdy 

feet all bare and rosy. 
Climbed his babe to mother's breast, as climbs 

the slow world up to God. 



A RESURRECTION 

Neither would they be persuaded, though otie rose from 
the dead. 

I WAS quick in the flesh, was warm, and the 
Uve heart shook my breast ; 
In the market I bought and sold, in the tem- 
ple I bowed my head. 
I had swathed me in shows and forms, and was 
honored above the rest 
For the sake of the life I lived ; nor did any 
esteem me dead. 

But at last, when the hour was ripe — was it 
sudden-remembered word } 
Was it sight of a bird that mounted, or sound 
of a strain that stole ? 
I was 'ware of a spell that snapped, of an in- 
ward strength that stirred, 
Of a Presence that filled that place j and it 
shone, and I knew my Soul. 
42 



A Resurrection 4^ 

And the dream I had called my life was a 
garment about my feet, 
For the web of the years was rent with the 
throe of a yearning strong. 
With a sweep as of winds in heaven, with a 
rush as of flames that meet, 
The Flesh and the Spirit clasped; and I 
cried, " Was I dead so long ? " 

I had glimpse of the Secret, flashed through 
the symbol obscure and mean. 
And I f^lt as a fire what erst I repeated with 
lips of clay ; 
And I knew for the things eternal the things 
eye hath not seen ; 
Yea, the heavens and the earth shall pass j 
but they never shall pass away. 

And the miracle on me wrought, in the streets 
I would straight make known : 
"When this marvel of mine is heard, with- 
out cavil shall men receive 
Any legend of haloed saint, starting up through 
the sealed stone ! " 
So I spake in the trodden ways ; but behold, 
there would none believe ! 



THE GLORIOUS COMPANY 

" Faces, faces, faces of the streaming marching 
surge, 
Streaming on the weary road, toward the aw- 
ful steep. 
Whence your glow and glory, as ye set to that 
sharp verge, 
Faces lit as sunlit stars, shining as ye sweep ? 

" Whence this wondrous radiance that ye some- 
how catch and cast. 
Faces rapt, that one discerns 'mid the dusky 
press 
Herding in dull wonder, gathering fearful to 
the Vast ? 
Surely all is dark before, night of nothing- 
ness ! " 

Lo^ the Light ! (they answer) O the pure^ the 
pulsitig Lights 

44 



The Glorious Company 4^ 

Beating like a heart of life, like a heart of love, 
Soaring, searching, filling all the breadth a?id 
depth aftd height, 
Welling, whelming with its peace worlds below, 
above ! 

"O my soul, how art thou to that living 
Splendor blind, 
Sick with thy desire to see even as these 
men see ! — 
Yet to look upon them is to know that God 
hath shined : 
Faces lit as sunlit stars, be all my light to 
me!" 



THE TRUMPETER 

Two ships, alone in sky and sea, 

Hang clinched, with crash and roar ; 

There is but one — whiche'er it be — 
Will ever come to shore. 

And will it be the grim black bulk, 

That towers so evil now ? 
Or will it be The Grace of God, 

With the angel at her prow ? 

The man that breathes the battle's breath 

May live at last to know ; 
But the trumpeter lies sick to death 

In the stifling dark below. 

He hears the fight above him rave ; 

He fears his mates must yield ; 
He lies as in a narrow grave 

Beneath a battle-field. 
46 



ne Trumpeter 47 

His fate will fall before the ship's, 

Whate'er the ship betide ; 
He lifts the trumpet to his lips 

As though he kissed a bride. 

Now blow thy best, blow thy last, 
My trumpet, for the Right ! " — 

He has sent his soul in one strong blast, 
To hearten them that fight. 



COMRADES 

" Oh, whither, whither, rider toward the west ? " 
"And whither, whither, rider toward the 
east ? " 

" I rede we ride upon the same high quest, 
Whereon who enters may not be released : 

" To seek the Cup whose form none ever saw, — 
A nobler form than e'er was shapen yet. 

Though million million cups without a flaw. 
Afire with gems, on princes' boards are set ; 

" To seek the Wine whereof none ever had 
One draught, though many a generous wine 
flows free, — 

The spiritual blood that shall make glad 
The hearts of mighty men that are to be." 

" But shall one find it, brother ? Where I ride, 
Men mock and stare, who never had the 
dream. 

48 



Comrades 4g 

Yet hope within my breast has never died." 
" Nor ever died in mine that trembling 
gleam." 

" Eastward, I deem : the sun and all good 
things 
Are born to bless us of the Orient old." 
" Westward, I deem : an untried ocean sings 
Against that coast, * New shores await the 
bold.' " 

" God speed or thee or me, so coming men 
But have the Cup ! " " God speed ! " — Not 
once before 

Their eyes had met, nor ever met again. 
Yet were they loving comrades evermore. 



THE HOUSE OF HATE 

Mine enemy builded well, with the soft blue 

hills in sight ; 
But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a 

house for spite : 
And the name thereof I set in the stone-work 

over the gate, 
With a carving of bats and apes ; and I called 

it the House of Hate. 

And the front was alive with masks of malice 

and of despair ; 
Horned demons that leered in stone, and 

women with serpent hair ; 
That whenever his glance would rest on the 

soft hills far and blue, 
It must fall on mine evil work, and my hatred 

should pierce him through. 

And I said, " I will dwell herein, for beholding 
my heart's desire 
50 



The House of Hate 5/ 

On my foe j " and I knelt, and fain had bright- 
ened the hearth with fire ; 

But the brands they would hiss and die, as 
with curses a strangled man, 

And the hearth was cold from the day that the 
House of Hate began. 

And I called at the open door, " Make ye 

merry, all friends of mine, 
In the hall of my House of Hate, where is 

plentiful store and wine. 
We will drink unhealth together unto him I 

have foiled and fooled ! " 
And they stared and they passed me by ; but 

I scorned to be thereby schooled. 

And I ordered my board for feast; and I drank, 

in the topmost seat, 
Choice grape from a curious cup ; and the first 

it was wonder-sweet ; 
But the second was bitter indeed, and the third 

was bitter and black, 
And the gloom of the grave came on me, and 

I cast the cup to wrack. 



^2 The House of Hate 

Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows 

were each a fear ; 
And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes 

were strange to hear ; 
And the wind in the hallways howled as a 

green-eyed wolf might cry, 
And I heard my heart : I must look on the 

face of a man, or die ! 

So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, 

and I saw it grown 
(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like 

of the masks of stone ; 
And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my 

torch and fled. 
And a fire-snake writhed where it fell ; and at 

midnight the sky was red. 

And at morn, when the House of Hate was a 

ruin, despoiled of flame, 
I fell at mine enemy's feet, and besought him 

to slay my shame ; 
But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and 

his eyes were calm and great : 
"You rave, or have dreamed," he said; "I 

saw not your House of Hate." 



THE ARROWMAKER 

Day in, day out, or sun or rain. 
Or sallow leaf, or summer grain, 
Beneath a wintry morning moon 
Or through red smouldering afternoon, 
With simple joy, with careful pride, 
He plies the craft he long has plied : 
To shape the stave, to set the sting, 
To fit the shaft with irised wing ; 
And farers by may hear him sing. 
For still his door is wide : 
" Laugh and sigh, live and die, — 
The world swings round ; I know not, I, 
If north or south mine arrows fly ! " 

And sometimes, while he works, he dreams, 
And on his soul a vision gleams : 
Some storied field fought long ago. 
Where arrows fell as thick as snow. 
53 



^4 The Arrowmaker 

His breath comes fast, his eyes grow bright, 
To think upon that ancient fight. 
Oh, leaping from the strained string 
Against an armored Wrong to ring, 
Brave the songs that arrows sing ! 
He weighs the finished flight : 
" Live and die ; by and by 
The sun kills dark ; I know not, I, 
In what good fight mine arrows fly ! ' 

Or at the gray hour, weary grown. 

When curfew o'er the wold is blown. 

He sees, as in a magic glass, 

Some lost and lonely mountain-pass ; 

And lo ! a sign of deathful rout 

The mocking vine has wound about, ^ 

An earth-fixed arrow by a spring, 

All greenly mossed, a mouldered thing ; 

That stifled shaft no more shall sing ! 

He shakes his head in doubt. 
" Laugh and sigh, live and die, — 

The hand is blind : I know not, I, 

In what lost pass mine arrows lie ! 

One to east, one to west, 



The Arrowmaker ^^ 

Another for the eagle's breast, — 
The archer and the wind know best ! " 
The stars are in the sky ; 
He lays his arrows by. 



A NEST IN A LYRE 

As sign before a playhouse serves 

A giant Lyre, ornately gilded, 
On whose convenient coignes and curves 

The pert brown sparrows late have builded. 
They flit, and flirt, and prune their wings, 

Not awed at all by golden glitter, 
And make among the silent strings 

Their satisfied ephemeral twitter. 

Ah, somewhat so we perch and flit. 

And spy some crumb and dash to win it, 
And with a witty chirping twit 

Our sheltering Time — there *s nothing in it ! 
In Life's large frame, a glorious Lyre's, 

We nest, content, our season flighty. 
Nor guess we brush the powerful wires 

Might witch the stars with music mighty. 
56 



THISBE 

The garden within was shaded, 
And guarded about from sight ; 

The fragrance flowed to the south wind, 
The fountain leaped to the light. 

And the street without was narrow, 
And dusty, and hot, and mean ; 

But the bush that bore white roses, 
She leaned to the fence between •• 

And softly she sought a crevice 

In that barrier blank and tall. 
And shyly she thrust out through it 

Her loveliest bud of all. 

And tender to touch, and gracious, 
And pure as the moon's pure shine, 

The full rose paled and was perfect, — 
For whose eyes, for whose lips, but mine ! 
57 



THE SPRING BEAUTIES 

The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly 

clad for church ; 
A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat sing- 
ing on his perch. 
" Happy be ! for fair are ye ! " the gentle singer 

told them, 
But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming 
up to scold them. 
" Vanity, oh, vanity ! 
Young maids, beware of vanity ! " 
Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, 
Half parson-like, half soldierly. 

The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, 

pinky blushes. 
Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the 

Thrushes ; 
And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced 

that way to pass, 
58 



The Spring Beauties 59 

They hung their little bonnets down and looked 
into the grass. 
All because the buff-coat Bee 
Lectured them so solemnly : — 
" Vanity, oh, vanity ! 
Young maids, beware of vanity ! " 



KINSHIP 

A LILY grew in the tangle, 

In a flame-red garment dressed, 

And many a ruby spangle 

Besprinkled her tawny breast. 

And the silken moth sailed by her 
With a swift and a snow-white sail ; 

Not a gilt-girt bee came nigh her, 
Nor a fly in his gay green mail. 

And the bronze-brown wings and the golden, 
O'er the billowing meadows blown, 

Were still as by magic holden 
From the lily that flamed alone ; 

Till over the fragrant tangle 

A wanderer winging went. 
And with many a ruby spangle 

Were his tawny vans besprent. 
60 



Kinship 6i 

And he hovered one moment stilly 
O'er the thicket, her mazy bower, 

Then he sank to the heart of the lily, 
And they seemed but a single flower. 



COMPENSATION 

The brook ran laughing from the shade, 
And in the sunshine danced all day : 

The starlight and the moonlight made 
Its glimmering path a Milky Way. 

The blue sky burned, with summer fired : 
For parching fields, for pining flowers. 

The spirits of the air desired 

The brook's bright life to shed in showers. 

It gave its all that thirst to slake ; 

Its dusty channel lifeless lay ; 
Now softest flowers, white-foaming, make 

Its winding bed a Milky Way. 
62 



WHEN WILLOWS GREEN 

When goldenly the willows green, 

And, mirrored in the sunset pool, 
Hang wavering, wild-rose clouds between : 
When robins call in twilights cool : 
What is it we await ? 
Who lingers and is late ? 
What strange unrest, what yearning stirs us 

all 
When willows green, when robins call ? 

When fields of flowering grass respire 

A sweet that seems the breath of Peace, 
And liquid-voiced the thrushes choir. 
Oh, whence the sense of glad release ? 
What is it life uplifts ? 
Who entered, bearing gifts ? 
What floods from heaven the being overpower 
When thrushes choir, when grasses flower ? 
63 



AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

(ad comitem juniorem) 

Comrade Youth ! Sit down with me 

Underneath the summer tree, 

Cool green dome whose shade is sweet, 

Where the sunny roadways meet. 

See, the ancient finger-post, 

Silver-bleached with rain and shine, 

Warns us like a noon-day ghost : 

That way 's yours, and this way 's mine ! 

I would hold you with delays 

Here at parting of the ways. 

Hold you ! I as well might look 
To detain the racing brook 
With regrets and grievance tender, 
As my comrade swift and slender. 
Shy, capricious, all of spring ! 
Catch the wind with blossoms laden, 
Catch the wild bird on the wing, 
Catch the heart of boy or maiden ! 
64 



At the Parting of the Ways 65 

Yet I '11 hold your image fast, 
As this hour I saw you last, — 
As with staff in hand you sat, 
Soft curls putting forth defiant 
From the tilted Mercury's hat, 
Wreathen with the wilding grace 
Of the fresh-leaved vine and pliant, 
Stealing down to see your face. 
Eyes of pleasance, lips of laughter, 
I shall hoard you long hereafter ; 
Very dear shall be the days 
Ere the parting of the ways ! 

Shall you deem them dear, in truth, 
Days when we, o'er hill and hollow, 
Trudged together. Comrade Youth ? 
Ah, you dream of days to follow ! 
Hand in hand we jogged along j 
I would fetch from out my scrip, 
Crust or jest or antique song, — 
Live and lovely, on your lip. 
Such poor needments as I had 
Were as yours ; you made me glad. 
— Lo, the dial ! No prayer stays 
Time, at parting of the ways ! 



66 At the Parting of the Ways 

This gold memory — rings it true ? 
Half for me and half for you. 
Cleave and share it. Now, good sooth, 
God be with you, Comrade Youth 1 



THE FAIR GRAY LADY 

When the charm at last is fled 

From the woodland stark and pale, 

And like shades of glad hours dead 
Whirl the leaves before the gale : 

When against the western fire 
Darkens many an empty nest, 

Like a thwarted heart's desire 

That in prime was hardly guessed : 

Then the fair gray Lady leans, 
Lingering, o'er the faded grass, 

Still the soul of all the scenes 
Once she graced, a golden lass. 

O'er the Year's discrowned sleep, 
Dear as in her earlier day, 

She her bending watch doth keep, 
She the Goldenrod grown gray. 
(>7 



THE ENCOUNTER 

There 's a wood-way winding high, 
Roofed far up with light-green flicker, 
Save one midmost star of sky. 
Underfoot 't is all pale brown 
With the dead leaves matted down 
One on other, thick and thicker ; 
Soft, but springing to the tread. 
There a youth late met a maid 
Running lightly, — oh, so fleetly ! 
*' Whence art thou ? " the herd-boy said. 
Either side her long hair swayed, 
Half a tress and half a braid. 
Colored like the soft dead leaf. 
As she answered, laughing sweetly, 
On she ran, as flies the swallow ; 
He could not choose but follow 
Though it had been to his grief. 

" I have come up from the valley, — 
From the valley ! " Once he caught her, 
68 



The Encounter 6g 

Swerving down a sidelong alley, 

For a moment, by the hand. 
"Tell me, tell me," he besought her, 
" Sweetest, I would understand 

Why so cold thy palm, that slips 

From me like the shy cold minnow ? 

The wood is warm, and smells of fern, 

And below the meadows burn. 

Hard to catch and hard to win, oh ! 

Why are those brown finger tips 

Crinkled as with lines of water ? " 

Laughing while she featly footed. 
With the herd-boy hasting after. 
Sprang she on a trunk uprooted, 
Clung she by a roping vine ; 
Leaped behind a birch, and told, 
Still eluding, through its fine. 
Mocking, slender, leafy laughter, 
Why her finger tips were cold : 

" I went down to tease the brook. 
With her fishes, there below ; 
She comes dancing, thou must know, 
And the bushes arch above her j 



'JO The Encounter 

But the seeking sunbeams look, 

Dodging, through the wind-blown cover, 

Find and kiss her into stars. 

Silvery veins entwine and crook 

Where a stone her tripping bars ; 

There be smooth, clear sweeps, and swirls 

Bubbling up crisp drops like pearls. 

There I lie, along the rocks 

Thick with greenest slippery moss, 

And I have in hand a strip 

Of gray, pliant, dappled bark ; 

And I comb her liquid locks 

Till her tangUng currents cross ; 

And I have delight to hark 

To the chiding of her lip. 

Taking on the talking stone 

With each turn another tone. 

Oh, to set her wavelets bickering ! 

Oh, to hear her laughter simple. 

See her fret and flash and dimple ! 

Ha, ha, ha ! " The woodland rang 

With the rippling through the flickering. 

At the birch the herd-boy sprang. 

On a sudden something wound 
Vine-like round his throbbing throat ; 



The Encounter 71 

On a sudden something smote 

Sharply on his longing lips, 

Stung him as the birch bough whips : 

Was it kiss or was it blow ? 

Never after could he know ; 

She was gone without a sound. 

Never after could he see 
In the wood or in the mead, 
Or in any company 
Of the rustic mortal maids, 
Her wdth acorn-colored braids ; 
Never came she to his need. 
Never more the lad was merry , 
Strayed apart, and learned to dream, 
Feeding on the tart wild berry ; 
Murmuring words none understood, — 
Words with music of the wood. 
And with music of the stream. 



SUMMER HOURS 

Hours aimless-drifting as the milkweed's down 
In seeming, still a seed of joy ye bear 
That steals into the soul when unaware, 

And springs up Memory in the stony town. 
72 



LOVE UNSUNG 

Seven jewelled rays has the Sun fast bound 

In his arrow of blinding sheen ; 
But he quickens the breast of the fruitful 
ground 

With a subtlest ray unseen. 

And the rainbow moods of this love of ours 
I may blend in the song I bring ; 

But the magic that makes life laugh with flowers 
Is the love that I cannot sing. 
73 



THE WISH FOR A CHAPLET 

ViNELEAF and rose I would my chaplet make : 
I would my word were wine for all men's sake, 
Pure from the pressing of the stainless feet 
Of unblamed Hours, and for an altar meet. 

Vineleaf and rose : I would, had I the art, 

Distil, to lasting sweet, Joy's rosy heart, 

That no sere autumn should its fragrance 

wrong. 
Closed in the crystal glass of slender song. 
74 



SONNETS 



THE TORCH-RACE 

Brave racer, who hast sped the living light 
With throat outstretched and every nerve 

a-strain, 
Now on thy left hand labors gray-faced Pain, 
And Death hangs close behind thee on the 

right. 
Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight, 
With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain ; 
And all thy splendor of strong life must 

wane 
And set into the mystery of night. 

Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide 
Whose hand shall snatch, before it sears the 

sod. 
The light thy lessening grasp no more controls : 
Truth's rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide : 
This is the torch-race game, that noblest souls 
Play on through time beneath the eyes of 

God. 

n 



TO SLEEP 

All slumb'rous images that be, combined, 
To this white couch and cool shall woo thee, 

Sleep ! 
First will I think on fields of grasses deep 
In gray-green flower, o'er which the transient 

wind 
Runs like a smile ; and next will call to mind 
How glistening poplar-tops, when breezes 

creep 
Among their leaves, a tender motion keep. 
Stroking the sky, like touch of lovers kind. 

Ah, having felt thy calm kiss on mine eyes, 
All night inspiring thy divine pure breath, 
I shall awake as into godhood born. 
And with a fresh, undaunted soul arise. 
Clear as the blue convolvulus at morn. 
— Dear bedfellow, deals thus thy brother. 
Death .? 

78 



SISTER SNOW 

Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase 
Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow : 
Whose soft, soft coming never man may know 
By any sound j whose down-light touch allays 
All fevers of worn earth. She clothes the days 
In garments without spot, and hence doth go 
Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro. 
And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways. 

But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies ! 
How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign. 
Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved ! 
Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies. 
— Wast thou not sent us. Sister, for a sign 
Of that vast Mercy of God, else unconceived ? 
79 



RETROSPECT 

" Backward," he said, " dear heart, I like to 

look 
To those half-spring, half-winter days, when 

first 
We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst. 
Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook 
The boughs. Have you remembered that kind 

book, 
That for our sake Galeotto's part rehearsed, 
(The friend of lovers, — this time blessed, not 

cursed !) 
And that best hour, when reading we forsook ? " 

She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears 
At childish fancies needless to control ; 
Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend. 
Better it seemed to think that love of theirs. 
Native as breath, eternal as the soul. 
Knew no beginning, could not have an end. 
So 



THE CONTRAST 

He loved her ; having felt his love begin 
With that first look, — as lover oft avers. 
He made pale flowers his pleading ministers, 
Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime in 
To serve his suit ; but when he could not win. 
Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers ; 
And at her name his pulse no longer stirs, 
And life goes on as though she had not been. 

She never loved him ; but she loved Love so, 
So reverenced Love, that all her being shook 
At his demand whose entrance she denied. 
Her thoughts of him such tender color took 
As western skies that keep the afterglow. 
The words he spoke were with her till she 
died. 

8i 



A MYSTERY 

That sunless day no living shadow swept 

Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light, 

Twin of the sailing cloud : but mists wool- 
white. 

Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders 
crept. 

And wrought about the strong hills while they 
slept 

In witches' wise, and rapt their forms from 
sight. 

Dreams were they ; less than dream, the 
noblest height 

And farthest ; and the chilly woodland wept. 

A sunless day and sad : yet all the while 
Within the grave green twilight of the wood, 
Inscrutable, immutable, apart, 

82 



A Mystery 8^ 

Hearkening the brook, whose song she under- 
stood, 
The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile, 
Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow's 
heart. 



TRIUMPH 

This windy sunlit morning after rain, 

The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning 

gleam 
In the blown wood, whence breaks the wild 

white stream 
Rushing and flashing, glorying in its gain ; 
Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdain 
O'erleaps the boulders lying in long dream. 
Lapped in cold moss ; and in its joy doth 

seem 
A wood-born creature bursting from a chain. 

And " Triumph, triumph, triumph ! " is its 

hoarse 
Fierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not 

know 
Thy triumph on another wise must be, — 
To render all the tribute of thy force, 
And lose thy little being in the flow 
Of the unvaunting river toward the sea ! 
84 



IN WINTER, WITH THE BOOK WE 
READ IN SPRING 

The blackberry's bloom, when last we went this 

way, 
Veiled all her bowsome rods with trembling 

white ; 
The robin's sunset breast gave forth delight 
At sunset hour ; the wind was warm with May. 
Armored in ice the sere stems arch to-day, 
Each tiny thorn encased and argent-bright ; 
Where clung the birds that long have taken 

flight, 
Dead songless leaves cling fluttering on the 

spray. 

O hand in mine, that mak'st all paths the same. 
Being paths of peace, where falls nor chill nor 

gloom, 
Made sweet with ardors of an inward spring ! 
85 



86 In IVinter 

I hold thee — frozen skies to rosy flame 

Are turned, and snows to living snows of 

bloom, 
And once again the gold-brown thrushes sing. 



SERE WISDOM 

I HAD remembrance of a summer morn, 
When all the glistening field was softly 

stirred 
And like a child's in happy sleep I heard 
The low and healthful breathing of the corn. 
Late when the sumach's red was dulled and 

worn, 
And fainter grew the trite and troublous 

word 
Of tristful cricket, that replaced the bird, 
I sought the slops, and found a waste forlorn. 

Against that cold clear west, whence winter 
peers. 

All spectral stood the bleached stalks thin- 
leaved, 

Dry as papyrus kept a thousand years, 
87 



88 Sere IVisdom 

And hissing whispered to the wind that 

grieved, 
// was a dream — we bare no goodly ears — 
There was no summer-time — deceived! de- 
ceived! 



ISOLATION 

White fog around, soft snow beneath the tread, 
All sunless, windless, tranced, the morning 

lay; 
All noiseless, trackless, new, the well-known 

way. 
The silence weighed upon the sense : in dread, 
" Alone, I am alone," I shuddering said, 
" And wander in a region where no ray 
Has ever shone, and as on earth's first day 
Or last, my kind are not yet born or dead." 

Yet not afar, meanwhile, there faltered feet 
Like mine, through that wide mystery of the 

snow, 
Nor could the old accustomed paths divine ; 
And even as mine, unheard spake voices low, 
And hearts were near, that as my own heart 

beat, 
Warm hands, and faces fashioned like to mine. 
89 



THE LOST DRYAD 

(to EDITH M. THOMAS) 

Into what beech or silvern birch, O friend 
Suspected ever of a dryad strain, 
Hast crept at last, delighting to regain 
Thy sylvan house ? Now whither shall I wend, 
Or by what winged post my greeting send. 
Bird, butterfly, or bee ? Shall three moons 

wane. 
And yet not found ? — Ah, surely it was pain 
Of old, for mortal youth his heart to lend 
To any hamadryad ! In his hour 
Of simple trust, wild impulse him bereaves : 
She flees, she seeks her strait enmossed bower : 
And while he, searching, softly calls, and 

grieves. 
Oblivious, high above she laughs in leaves, 
Or patters tripping talk to the quick shower. 
90 



A MEMORY 

Though pent in stony streets, 't is joy to know, 
'T is joy, although we breathe a fainter air, 
The spirit of those places far and fair 
That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents 

flow 
Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow 
Long on remembered roads as warm days 

wear; 
And still the dark wild water, in its lair, 
The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro. 

Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings. 
And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue 
Of rocks ; and from her tall wind-slanted stem 
A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings 
Along the breeze, above a sea whose blue 
Is like the light that kindles through a gem. 
91 



THE GIFTS OF THE OAK 

(for the seventieth birthday of JAMES RUSSELL 
LOWELL) 

* There needs no crown to mark the forest's 

king/ 
Thus, long ago, thou sang 'st the sound-heart 

tree 
Sacred to sovereign Jove, and dear to thee 
Since first, a venturous youth with eyes of 

spring, — 
Whose pilgrim-staff each side put forth a 

wing, — 
Beneath the oak thou lingeredst lovingly 
To crave, as largess of his majesty, 
Firm-rooted strength, and grace of leaves that 

sing. 

He gave ; we thank him ! Graciousness as 

grave. 
And power as easeful as his own he gave ; 
92 



Two Gifts of the Oak g^ 

Long broodings rich with sun, and laughters 

kind j 
And singing leaves, whose later bronze is dear 
As the first amber of the budding year, — 
Whose voices answer the autumnal wind. 



THE STRAYED SINGER 

(MATTHEW ARNOLD) 

He wandered from us long, oh, long ago. 
Rare singer, with the note unsatisfied ; 
Into what charmed wood, what shade star-eyed 
With the wind's April darlings, none may 

know. 
We lost him. Songless, one with seed to sow. 
Keen-smiling toiler, came in place, and plied 
His strength in furrowed field till eventide. 
And passed to slumber when the sun was low. 

But now, — as though Death spoke some 

mystic word 
Solving a spell, — present to thought appears 
The morn 's estray, not him we saw but late ; 
And on his lips the strain that once we heard, 
And in his hand, cool as with Springtime's 

tears. 
The melancholy wood-flowers delicate. 
94 



THE IMMORTAL WORD 

One soiled and shamed and foiled in this 

world's fight, 
Deserter from the host of God, that here 
Still darkly struggles, — waked from death in 

fear, 
And strove to screen his forehead from the 

white 
And blinding glory of the awful Light, 
The revelation and reproach austere. 
Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape 

drew near. 
Bright-browed, majestic, armored like a knight. 

" Great Angel, servant of the Highest, why 
Stoop'st thou to me } " although his lips were 

mute. 
His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied : 
" Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I, 
Son of thy soul, thy youth's forgotten fruit. 
We two go up to judgment side by side." 
95 



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